


didn't get to heaven but you made it close

by badass_normal



Category: Lost
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-31
Updated: 2010-07-31
Packaged: 2017-10-11 01:23:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/106748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badass_normal/pseuds/badass_normal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jacob pays Kate a visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	didn't get to heaven but you made it close

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flaky_artist](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=flaky_artist).



Six years ago Jeremy Bentham knocked on her door.

It's kind of like that, when she answers the bell and the all-powerful weakling is standing on her porch like it's _perfectly fucking reasonable._

"You're not—"

"I am."

She lets him in because the novelty of someone who isn't Sawyer or Claire tickles the latent shadow of her heart that never wanted to settle. Even now. He walks past her, his eyebrows drawn forward and his mouth in a somber pout, a giant tragedy of a demi-god.

"So now I'm seeing dead people too?" she asks him after he trudges into the kitchen with direction and purpose.

He doesn't answer for a long time. And then instead of speaking he lifts an orange from her fruit bowl, begins to peel it. She watches like her life hangs in the balance, which it doesn't, because he's a ghost, he has to be. A ghost cannot hurt her. Although it's not like this situation has a precedent, so what the hell does she know.

Slowly, deliberately, he bites into a slice of orange, and the bitter smell of the fruit wafts into the air. It may or may not be a stronger scent than usual. She wonders if it's her or him.

"Still think I'm dead?" he whispers.

Her hands are shaking. He licks his lips, tasting the orange and closing his eyes. Ghosts don't taste, she thinks, like there's some kind of rule.

"I'm not a mother anymore," she offers suddenly, because his only words to her in her adult life are flooding back and there's nothing else to say.

"I'm glad."

She imagines she's not supposed to know what that means.

"Why are you here?"

_I thought you might need me_. He doesn't say it out loud.

His hand gently presses to her stomach and she gasps as the glow of a golden fire spirals helplessly through her. Even in death, (because he's been lying to her, she'd never have suspected that he could be incompetent at deceit), his touch, his touch is supernatural.

The edge of the counter digs into the small of her back and provides some realism to a ghost's fingers touching her skin and igniting her effortlessly.

"I don't."

He slides the strap of her dress over her shoulder. "What do you need?" he breathes into her skin.

The sensation of his lips is unlike anything a mortal could imagine. Her neck arches and her fists clench.

She has never needed anything except to move on.

Wanting, however, she recognizes.

"Why are you here?" she repeats.

He kisses her.

And then she knows.

Maybe she needs him, maybe she doesn't. Either way, this is not about her.

A ghostlike memory of a polar bear cage, a man who needed her.

She touches him.


End file.
